


rest your weary head (and let your heart decide)

by EmAndFandems



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 18:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19892728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmAndFandems/pseuds/EmAndFandems
Summary: As a general rule, angels (and by extension, ex-angels) do not see a purpose to kissing. The two of them have never been much for rules.





	rest your weary head (and let your heart decide)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Queen's "Play the Game." Rated Teen just to be safe.

Crowley thinks, sometimes, that this love might kill him. He doesn’t mind.

He whispers it one night.  _ I'd die for you. _ He thought Aziraphale was asleep, but the angel looks at him.

"Don't do that," he says, sleepily. Crowley smiles.

"Okay."

They settle back down. Limbs interlocking. Heartbeats pressed together. Quiet, for a moment. Then:

"I'd die for you, too," and Aziraphale's voice is barely audible, but Crowley hears it all the same.

He links their fingers. "Don't do that either."

Crowley feels Aziraphale's smile. "Alright."

They say nothing more that night, and they fall asleep pressed against one another in an easy, comfortable silence. It is so simple. So obvious, so right.

Over his cup of morning tea, Aziraphale becomes aware that Crowley is watching him read his book. "Yes?"

Crowley flushes. "Nothing. Forget it."

Aziraphale sets down the book. He waits. Crowley surrenders. "Did you... mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"What you said. Last night. About... You know." Crowley fidgets.

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. "Why would I say something I didn't mean? Of course I meant it."

"It's just--" Crowley cuts himself off with a sigh and tries again. The next sentence is spoken in a jumble. "Would you have said it if I hadn't said it first?"

"Yes." Aziraphale answers without thinking. "Yes, of course."

Crowley peers at him. "Really?"

Aziraphale pushes aside his teacup and reaches for Crowley's hands to hold them in his own, solid and warm and reassuring. " _ Yes. _ "

"Oh." Crowley seems a little lost. "Oh. Alright then."

Aziraphale smiles at him. "Dear?"

Crowley glances at him and away again. "Yeah."

"I love you, you know."

A pause. And then, faintly, almost unrecognizably, "I love you too, angel."

Aziraphale brings Crowley's long, delicate fingers to his lips and presses a kiss to them. Lingering and gentle. Crowley's breath leaves him in a hiss. His eyes flutter shut.

Crowley is hyper-aware of every nerve ending in his fingers. He feels everything. Every skin cell in contact with Aziraphale is screaming, no, singing. He inhales sharply and opens his eyes.

Aziraphale is looking at him, lowering Crowley’s hand from those impossibly soft lips. Crowley aches for them. He cannot move, can scarcely breathe.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” says Aziraphale in a low tone. He inches closer. Crowley is sure he must be giving off steam. He swallows.

Aziraphale traces the motion with his eyes. The touch of his gaze feels more intimate, somehow, than sharing the bed did. Aziraphale stretches out a finger and runs it along Crowley’s neck. Crowley shudders but does not pull away. His eyes are locked with Aziraphale’s; he cannot look anywhere else.

Slowly, Aziraphale brings his hand up to Crowley’s temple. Slowly, he brushes aside a few loose strands of hair. Slowly, he moves exploring fingers further back, cupping Crowley’s skull in a firm grasp.

Crowley, if he were capable of coherent thought, would note that this has taken long enough, that it has been thousands of years and could he hurry up a bit? He is certain that at any moment he will discorporate on the spot. But he has been paralyzed by the thought of ruining this moment, and so he remains absolutely still, maintaining tortuous eye contact, trembling.

Aziraphale, cruel angel, pauses millimeters away from Crowley’s lips.

“What?” Crowley says, in a sigh that almost manages to sound serpentine despite its complete lack of sibilants. He reaches to close the distance himself but Aziraphale pulls back precisely the same amount he advances and so there is nothing to be done but wait. “Angel. Please.”

A small smile plays along the lines of Aziraphale’s mouth. “Mmm… Lovely. Did you know that you are very pretty from this close?”

“I’m very pretty all the time,” Crowley says. “Shut up.”

“I suppose you want me to say something like  _ Make me.  _ How trite.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Would that work?”

Aziraphale pretends to consider. He opens his mouth to deliver his response but he never will; in the precise moment of his distraction, Crowley has lunged forward and finally,  _ finally, _ kissed Aziraphale.

As a general rule, angels (and by extension, ex-angels) do not see a purpose to kissing. Pressing faces together is both unhygienic and, according to reports, unnecessary. Yet the two of them have never been one for following the general rules of their kind, and after centuries of living among humans, it is only natural that they have picked up certain affinities. Food and cars are not  _ necessary  _ either, but they have their allure. Kissing, Crowley finds, is one of those nice human inventions that save a lot of trouble thinking up words. Aziraphale is inclined to agree.

It’s funny how much can be said without ever speaking a word. Their kiss means  _ I love you, _ of course, but it also means  _ I’m here _ and  _ You’ll always have me _ and  _ Hello, it’s so good to be yours. _

Yes, a kiss can be a very versatile thing. They’ll have to try this again. Just to get the hang of it, you understand. Just to find out exactly how many things a kiss can say.

It’ll be alright. They have all the time in the world to figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual I am BEGGING you to leave a comment to let me know what you thought!


End file.
